A Law Unto Themselves
by tunaman45
Summary: The Justice League is drawn into the scheme of a mysterious organization bent on world domination. Contains a mix of DC and original characters.
1. Omaha 1,1

January 1, 2012

The nail that sticks up will get hammered down.

Herald stepped out of his portal into the chaos of the Omaha police station. Cops rushed around, everyone was yelling. That stopped as soon as the portal appeared and the heroes began stepping out.

It wasn't just the physical aspect, Herald knew. He was only 5'6", and his costume wasn't exactly intimidating. Just a cloak and skintight suit, with a silver mask covering the top half of his face. The image of a trumpet in gold on his chest stood out against the dark material of the bodysuit. Of course, the suit concealed a layer of mesh armor that was virtually impenetrable, but the cops didn't know that. They just saw a kind of short guy in a funny looking cloak. But it still got the nearest cops to stop, starting a ripple that spread as the remainder of Herald's teammates stepped into the crowded police station. After all, he was still a superhero.

Zauriel was the opposite. Nearly seven feet tall, he floated an inch off the ground, his massive wings slowly unfurling as he exited the portal. His skin was etched in patterns of deep blue and silver, which slowly moved across his skin as he surveyed the scene. Power radiated off him in waves, producing a calming effect on those near him. Herald knew he could just as easily turn the power to fear or anger. The cops stared at him with the sense of awe and fear befitting the being who had gone toe to toe with Superman and emerged without a scratch.

Gypsy emerged next, carefully stepping away from Zauriel. She wore a loose costume with a puffy white shirt and brown pants that flared out around her ankles. A smooth mask completely covered her face, hiding any expressive. But her body language was just daring anyone not to take her seriously.

Stargirl and Hawkgirl stepped through the portal in tandem. Stripe was blonde, with long hair and a costume that was a bit too Captain America for Herald's tastes. It was bright blue, covering her entire body. Stars moved slowly across the service, making it clear how much technology was jammed into the fabric. But it was the staff she held in her hands that commanded attention. Bright gold, six feet long, it ended in a hook. Everyone in the room had seen that staff level a city block.

Hawkgirl went for a different look. Her flaring helmet emphasized her wings, which, while smaller than Zauriel's, were still impressive. Her costume covered less, leaving the skin on her upper chest, legs, and arms exposed. Her red hair draped down from her helmet. In one hand, she held her mace, which she seemingly unconsciously turned into a pair of battle axes within seconds of stepping through the portal.

Last through was Jon Stewart. The number three of the Justice League was everything Herald wasn't, but not in the same way as Zauriel. While Zauriel looked more than human, The Green Lantern simply looked like a human done right. His black, skintight costume showed a muscular physique, but one made hard through regular exercise, not purposeless bodybuilding. The ring on his finger commanded respect, but his gaze made it clear that he wasn't to be respected just because of a piece of jewelry.

"Right then," Stewart said. "Let's go talk to the boss."

The police commissioner was a fat man. He barely fit into his uniform. Easily two-fifty, maybe three hundred pounds, Herald guessed. But he still moved quickly. The second Jon Stewart walked through the door, his hand was clasped and being shaken vigorously.

"Saw you work while I was a Lieutenant in Gotham, never did see anything like it. Everyone says Doctor Fate and Metron are the ones to watch out for, but you, my boy, you could best any of them, if you ask me, but why would you, I suppose, it's not like I'm an expert. Oh look, I've got a photographer over there, just time for a few quick pictures, would your team just fill in on the sides… thank you please." He said, spinning a surprised and flustered (for the first time Herald had ever seen) Jon Stewart around to face a cameraman who was standing off to the side of the room. The cameraman flashed a grin to match the one the commissioner had on his face and then began to take pictures in rapid succession.

After what seemed like an age, the commissioner said "That'll be all, I think, Jim." and the cameraman backed out. The commissioner walked past the slightly stunned, moderately annoyed Jon Stewart and the smiling Hawkgirl to sit behind his desk. "Now then, before we get down to business, can I get you heroes anything? Water, tea, coffee, ovaltine, something stronger? Now Hawkgirl, I like to pride myself on knowing a whiskey gal when I see one, and you've got that look. I can see it in your eyes, you know. Can't tell with that big fellow back there, can only see his backside, but I'm guessing wine and a goat, am I right? Not in that way, Stargirl, I can tell you're thinking it. I'm big on live and let live, but there'll be none of that tomfoolery on my watch. So, really, what's the deal with the big guy anyway? Seems to like my door."

They all turned around to find Zauriel staring at the comissioner's door, slowly rotating. It was amazing how easy it was to forget he was there sometimes. After a few seconds of all eyes being focused on him, Zauriel rotated back to face the mayor. "Your office is interesting, as is your door. I commend you on both." he monotoned, no expression appearing on his face.

"Right…" said the commissioner. "So, I'll go get those drinks we were talking about, then we can get down to business, I think?"

In a voice that was just a hair away from perfectly controlled, Jon Stewart said "We are on duty. None of us want any drinks."

"Actually, I think I'll have that drink," Hawkgirl said from the corner of the room.

"I'll take one as well," said Stargirl from beside her.

Jumping up from his chair, the mayor exclaimed "Excellent! I'll get you that whiskey we were talking about, and for you Stargirl, I'll guess. I'm always right. You're over 21 aren't you?" Stargirl shifted slightly. "Oh, doesn't matter, special exemptions and all that. Be back in a jiff!" And he scooted out the door before Jon Stewart could say anything.

The second the door was closed, Stewart turned to Hawkgirl and Stargirl, his eyes narrowing. "You shouldn't have done that."

"Lighten up," said Hawkgirl, and Stargirl nodded. "It's just a drink."

"It's not just that, you went against me on a mission and in front of a civilian. You made me and my leadership look weak, you-"

"Just get a room, you two." Gypsy spoke up from the corner.

An awkward silence reigned until the commissioner stepped back through the door.

"Now I've gone to the liberty of preparing everyone a drink, now don't look so angry, Mr. Stewart, it's just a water for you. For Ms. Gypsy, a fan of yours outside told me you like tea, so I made some up, got some sugar somewhere around here." Gypsy perked up at the mention of a fan. "Now for Hawkgirl, that whiskey, and a scotch for Stargirl there. I got Zauriel and Herald some coffee, fresh from the pot. Made it myself. Drink up, everyone!"

Everyone did. Stargirl made a funny face and put down a half finished glass on the table. Zauriel simply stated "It tastes strange. But an excellent attempt." and turned to stare at the door again.

"Now then!" said the commissioner, settling back into his chair, "To business?"

In a voice that was slightly more than a hair away from perfectly controlled, Jon Stewart said "Please."

"Righty then, so you know the basics. Two young heroes, new to their powers, went out last night to try and take down a drug distribution center. Tank and Warcry were their names. Tank was this kid whiz, worked mostly with hard light constructs. Warcry had a sonic shout, some other little powers. They ran into a group of villains when they attacked the center, long story short, Tank's in the morgue, Warcry's in a coma and doesn't look like he'll be waking up anytime soon."

"Who did this and where can we find them?" It was Stargirl who spoke up.

"Can't tell you where to find them, but I'm pretty sure of who did it."

"How such is pretty sure?" Herald asked, stepping forward.

"Oh, 75% or so. I mean, there's really only one supervillain game in town, so it's really just a question of who in their gang did it."

Stewart moved forward to take charge of the conversation again. "One game? What do you mean?"

"I mean there's only one group of supervillains here. 'Bout nine of 'em. Run the entire underworld. Strong ones too. Kicked out or absorbed all the other groups in town. Got a bunch of henchmen too."

Silence reigned in the office.

In a voice so perfectly in control that Herald took an involuntary step back, Jon Stewart put his hands on the commissioner's desk, leaning forward until his face was less than a foot away from the commissioner's, and said "And you didn't tell us this earlier… why?"

"Just figured you knew." The commissioner kept the same jovial grin, but Herald thought he could see something else in his eyes.

"We knew two heroes were attacked. We did not know that your city was being run by a gang of supervillains while you stood idly by. Please tell me you at least have files on these people."

"Oh, like criminal records and stuff? Yeh, got boxes filled with all the crimes they've committed."

"I meant powers, personalities…"

"Oh, nothing like that. Should I go get some guys busy whipping something up?"

"Yes… please." The voice by this point could cut through steel.

"No problem, I'll get the guys started on it in a sec. Before I go, want more water? Tea? Coffee? Whiskey? Scotch? Oh, looks like you didn't finish it, I'll give you a minute there."

"Just go." Hawkgirl said in a disbelieving tone.

"All right-y then, be back in a bit." The commissioner walked out the door. A few seconds after he left, a laugh could be heard from outside the office.

"Fascinating." Zauriel said, in his customary monotone. "I had almost forgotten how masterful of craftsmen some mortals are." He had not turned away from the door. Herald looked over the door again, but it was still looking like a perfectly normal, average door. He reached over and touched it just to be sure.

"Please do not disturb the door." said Zauriel, not even glancing towards him. "It slumbers, and cannot be allowed to wake until the detective pursues the craftsman through streets of frozen dreams. I will lock it and make another." Another door fizzled into existence to the left of the existing door.

There were times Herald was sure Zauriel was insane.

Jon Stewart walked to the table that Stargirl's scotch rested on and picked up the glass. With an almost mechanical motion, he threw back the drink.

"Herald, get on the line to HQ. Tell them we need everything they've got on supervillains in Omaha, and at least three additional Leaguers, preferably more if they can be spared. This is going to get messy."

Herald nodded his assent and reached into a pouch on his belt to retrieve his phone. He pressed a button on the side and it automatically dialed Justice League headquarters, contained in the orbiting Watchtower. HQ picked up on the first ring.

"This is the Watchtower. What is it, Herald?" said Lex Luthor.

Herald began his explanation.


	2. Omaha 1,2

**No offense intended to Omaha Police Department, this will all make sense soon. **

**I've decided to post updates twice a week. Right now I'm thinking Tuesday and Saturday. **

**January 1, 2012**

Luthor had told him exactly where Red Tornado would be. He just hadn't said what that place would be.

Herald stepped through his portal into an abandoned factory twenty miles outside of Columbus, Ohio. Red Tornado stood three feet away, his back facing Herald. He did not react to the sudden appearance of the portal.

Eventually Herald stepped forward and tapped the automaton on the shoulder. "Hello? Red? You alive?"

"That is a question, isn't it. One of many." Nothing on Red Tornado moved as the statement came out of his chest, equal parts tinny and rumbling.

"Are you getting philosophical on me here? C'mon, we have to get to Omaha. What are you doing here, anyways?"

"I heard from Luthor. I know about Omaha." The automaton reached forward and picked a smooth sheet of metal off the ground, running his fingers over it.

"Look, then you know we've got to go, right?"

No response.

"Are you ok?"

"Largely, through no fault of my own."

"Are you sure you don't need to skip this? We can handle without you."

"I will come." He didn't move towards the portal, instead continuing to run his fingers over the metal.

"Seriously, I've never seen you like this. Are you ok?" Herald felt helpless to do anything.

"Yes." With that, Red Tornado walked through the portal, his footsteps echoing through the abandoned factory. Herald followed, and the portal closed behind him.

Ten seconds after the portal closed, the building vanished, to be replaced with a grassy field. Two massive fruit trees stood in the center.

Herald knocked on the door of Zatanna's apartment, rather than just opening a portal inside. The moment he did, he heard the sound of the locks clicking and the door swung open on its own accord.

_Right. Not like I have a key anymore._

Herald walked through the door. She'd redecorated. Evening light filtered through the windows.

Zatanna stuck her head out of her bedroom door. "I'll be dressed in a minute. You know this thing takes forever to get on."

_And off._

"Red with you?"

"Dropped him off in Omaha before coming here."

An awkward pause. Herald decided to start the conversation again.

"Have you noticed him acting a little weird lately?"

"He's a robot. He always acts weird. Just stands there, doesn't say anything, then will suddenly try and tell a joke."

"Right. But weirder than that?"

"Not really. Why? He tell a joke that's actually funny?"

"Wasn't that. Just acting…weird."

Zatanna stepped out of her room. Her costume, designed to look like a magician's outfit, included skintight black pants, high black boots, and a white and black top. She held a wand in her left hand, but Herald knew it was only meant as a distraction. She was the one with the power. "Shall we?" she asked.

Herald nodded and opened a portal.

And stepped into the middle of an argument. S.T.R.I.P.E. and Luthor were facing off, their faces inches away from each other. Luthor was halfway into his robotic suit. S.T.R.I.P.E. didn't have his on, but he looked ready to tear Luthor apart with his bare hands.

"You're not going, and that's final!" Luthor shouted.

"She's my niece! She's not going into that mess without me to protect her! She's just a child, Lex!"

"Courtney doesn't need you to protect her! She's a big girl! Let her fight her own battles! You can't always be there for her!"

"Fight her own battles? Against a gang of homicidal supervillains? Are you crazy?"

"You protecting her all the time hurts the team. We need to be smart about this. You're too emotionally involved." Luthor's voice had dropped to a harsh whisper.

"I'm too emotionally involved? At least I'm not just using the League to satisfy my own narcissistic ego! Every time you fight, cameras everywhere! You could have at least had the decency to learn from your mistakes after Metropolis! But no, you're worse than ever! Always reminding everyone, getting them to cheer for you! Lex Luthor, billionaire, philanthropist, head of the Justice League, the man who took down Superman! What do you want to be next, Lex? President? Caesar? Would me being there make you look to bad? Let everyone know you aren't always the smartest guy in the room?"

Luthor's face had shifted from angry to cold, twisted in anger to calculating. He looked at S.T.R.I.P.E. levelly.

"Stay here, or you're off the team." he said quietly, almost in a whisper.

Herald saw S.T.R.I.P.E.'s eyes flash with indecision for a second.

"If I see Courtney needs help, I'll be there in under a minute."

S.T.R.I.P.E. stalked off.

Luthor finished getting into his suit and turned to Herald. "Let's go." he said, anger returning to his voice.

Herald opened another portal.

**January 2****nd****, 2012**

What people didn't understand was that she was an artist. And an engineer. And a genius. She wasn't just a technician, or some mercenary. She wasn't _him_.

Deadshot shood off to the side, polishing a rifle. A quick smile flashed over his face. That meant he was about to start talking. Something incredibly clever, no doubt.

"So… why do they call you Plastique?" his voice positively oozing with something. She couldn't think of a word to describe it. Vomit?

"They call me Plastique because they're unoriginal, it's catchy, and it's easy for people to remember. I call myself Plastique because most of my clients are too stupid to remember two names, so I can't choose one that's better."

"Ooh, you're harsh. I can see why Livewire thinks you're crazy. Or a have been a crazy bitch. Something like that." _Yeh, vomit's definitely the right word._

"Livewire's just pissed she can't do what I do. Or make the money I do."

"And you do what? Plant bombs, string together blocks of boom-dough?"

_Bottle the forces of nature and make them partner to the human intellect, then release their pent-up fury and ride the tidal wave._

"Something like that."

"And that? That's your boom-dough?" He indicated the perfectly smooth battleship grey ellipsoid sitting on the table in front of her.

"That's an antimatter containment field, magnetically keeping one one-hundred thousandth of a kilogram of antimatter from touching any matter. It's also a cloaking device, and if everything goes right, it should stop time within a three yard radius of the blast for the next 11.24 years and give off enough of an EMP to nuke any computer within a quarter-mile."

She was rewarded with a slight raise of the eyebrows and ten seconds of blessed silence.

"That's some boom-dough."

"I'm honored. Now get dressed." She held out his uniform.

Infiltrating the police station was almost embarrassingly easy. The cops didn't seem to care that they'd never seen these two people who apparently worked in the same building. Once past the cops, it was just a matter of finding the right room.

"Right, left, another right, oh you always know where to go." Deadshot sang under his breath.

"Shut up. You made me miss the turn." She hissed.

"Oh right, then you wouldn't stop and ask for directions, so we end up in the impound lot, all according to plan."

"Shut up."

"Witty. You know, you really should think about a career in stand—" His sentence ended mid-thought as he grabbed her and pushed her against a nearby van.

"What are you-"

"Shut up, trust me for ten seconds, kill me afterwards."

"Wha-"

And he kissed her. The bomb dropped to the ground.

_Yeh, he's definitely dead_.

Footsteps approached. Deadshot had oriented her so she couldn't see who was coming. _Leaving me defenseless if we get attacked, so he can get away, the bastard._

_Or so he can get off a shot, he's better in a fight than you are_ some rational part of her thought. The rest of her brain told that part its opinion wasn't needed.

Footsteps crunching on gravel, closer, closer, closer, slight misstep and pause, either whoever it is about to kill us or they just hadn't been expecting to see this in the impound lot, farther away, fading, then a whoosh of rockets. Deadshot broke away.

Plastique took a sigh of relief and punched Deadshot in the face. He staggered back into the van.

"Owwww…. That's a way to thank someone." He said, rubbing his jaw where she'd struck him.

She knelt down to check on the bomb. It should still be fine, it was impact proof, but sometimes even the smallest thing… She fished a tiny bar magnet out of her pocket and ran it over the side of the explosive. An access panel popped off and fell to the ground. "Ten words to explain yourself, or I'm making you eat this."

She pressed the button to check all electrical connections. Those were the most likely to get jarred, and since she wasn't vaporized or frozen in time, the antimatter was obviously still stable. But the detonator or receiver might have been damaged.

"Only need two. Lex Luthor."

It took a few seconds for that to sink in. "Oh."

"Yeh. His suit records everything that happens around it. When a bomb goes off, he's going to check that. If it saw either of our faces, we'd be eating breakfast in SuperMax for the rest of our lives. I prefer being anonymous."

All lights green. She carefully put the access panel back into place.

"The EMP…"

"Wouldn't affect his suit."

_Goddamn him._

She picked up the bomb. "Let's go."

After a few more wrong turns, they found the right room.

_Right. Just be casual. _

"So… you want to open the door?"

"Me?" said Deadshot, arching one of his eyebrows. She'd never understood how people did that. "Women's lib mean nothing to you?"

"Just open it."

Ultimately the question was answered when the door opened from inside. Zauriel stood in the doorway.

"Hello. You may enter, my friends. " he rumbled, not looking at either of them.

At that point Plastique couldn't think of even remotely approaching clever. The best she got to was _Whaaa…._ She glanced over at Deadshot. He looked just as shocked as she felt.

The angel moved aside.

She took a step forward, then another. Zauriel didn't move. Another step and she was in the room.

She heard Zauriel's voice again, this time almost a whisper, sliding into her thoughts like a knife.

"You know your art. You will find your purpose. Go, friend, and peace be unto you."

She looked back at the angel. He still floated by the door. Deadshot stood in the doorway. A single tear rolled down his cheek.

_What_.

She couldn't shake the thought. She glanced around the room. None of the superheroes or cops in the room were acting like anything weird was going on. The angel was hadn't moved.

"Hey, can you move? You're blocking the door."

"Plastique heard a muffled apology from Deadshot and felt his hand on her shoulder. "C'mon, let's finish the job." He whispered softly.

She took a halting step forward, then another. She got her stride back on the third. She touched her cheek. It was wet.

She set down the bomb. To everyone else it would just look like a box.

_Why am I acting like this._

She felt like for a brief second, a tiny part of veil that she never knew existed had been lifted, revealing all the answers to every question she had never considered asking. But that wasn't right. That was stupid.

It wasn't quite tranquility. It was the opposite, maybe? Instead of nothing on her mind, everything? A cyclone swirling all around, creating an eye of the storm.

"So I was thinking, now that we're done with this, we could go see a movie? I think there's a theater not too far from here."

And suddenly Plastique understood what people meant by emotional whiplash.

"Really? You pick here, now, to ask me this? In the middle of planting…" she hissed, barely managing to stop herself from blurting out "bomb." She glanced around quickly. None of the superheroes in the room were looking their way, but Herald looked like he was considering looking through the "box" they had just dropped off.

A thought crossed her mind. "Back there, was that even…"

"Yes, and Luthor'll be back soon, so let's go. I'll admit, that was bad timing."

"You think?" Plastique hoped he could understand sarcasm. She wouldn't be surprised if he was immune.

To build a bomb that could kill him in the most painful way possible, she'd need three parts she didn't have, and a week a prep time. Worth it? Probably not.

"So that's a definite maybe."

Worth it.

Plastique stormed out.

The files from Omaha PD were useless, but S.T.R.I.P.E. on was digging up useful information from the Watchtower. At least the cops had given them a big room with lots of whiteboards. Herald could see Stewart seethe every time a cop came in to drop off another file. It would inevitably be an incredibly detailed record of something incredibly useless. The commissioner had come by at least three times, each time with a tray with a set of drinks on it. Eventually even Red Tornado had taken one, pouring a plastic cup of water down a slot in his face.

Eventually a picture began to emerge. The villains called themselves The Septembrists. No one knew why. They'd taken control of Omaha's underground in less than three months in 2010. Since then, they'd cemented their control and kept the peace. Other supervillains had been driven out of town, and all other criminal organizations had been dismantled. A few groups had tried to rebel about a year before, but they'd been put down. Apparently the survivors had been given an ultimatum: leave the city or death. All had fled. Since then, the city had been quiet, except for a few people ending up in the hospital as The Septembrists expanded into nearby Council Bluff. There'd been some change of membership as one died and two new members joined, but the core group was the same.

Nine members. Deluge, The Mariner, Algorithm, Pompadour, Viceroy, Leviathan, Crane, Night, and Miracle Man.

Herald had a sneaking suspicion that the police commissioner had something to do with why they'd been so successful.

He checked, but no, the current commissioner had transferred to Omaha after a distinguished career in Gotham. So much for that lead. Jason usually handled this kind of thing, but he was busy dealing with a threat in Boston.

The Septembrists were led by a woman who called herself Viceroy. She had a decent amount of super strength, could fly, and shot energy blasts out of her hands. She was also apparently possibly invulnerable, because of course she was.

More information flooded in. Apparently the Septembrists had taken complete control of the drug trade when they took over. Drugs flowed into Omaha to several major distribution centers located throughout the city, where it was packaged and sent out to be sold. Luthor sent Green Lantern and Hawkgirl to scope out the center Warcry and Tank had attacked. They reported it looked deserted. No cars or people going in and out.

S.T.R.I.P.E. used the Watchtower computers to cross-check the only member of the Septembrists who went unmasked with police records. He found a match in Chicago, where a man named Tyler Jones had robbed a convenience store. He'd served two years and been released in 2008. Now he was calling himself Leviathan and had the ability to grow to three stories in height. And once he passed a certain height, he gained slight control over gravity in his immediate area, allowing the blood to keep flowing through the new miles of arteries and veins. Judging by the wounds, he had been the one who killed Tank. A giant handprint was kind of obvious.

Omaha police finally finished reports on some of the villains. Pompadour could cause herself to gain specific skills, but only one at a time and it took several seconds to recharge. She was a suspect in several murders over the past two years. Miracle Man could store objects in empty space, then remove them whenever he wanted. The Mariner and Deluge were most likely married. Deluge could transform inorganic objects into water, which The Mariner could control with hydrokinesis.

Warcry died during surgery to correct bleeding in his brain.

Cops came in and out, dropped off files. One policewoman came in and dropped off the largest box yet. A policeman who was accompanying her said something, and she turned and stormed out of the room. He followed. Herald went over and opened the box. Completely empty. Par for the course for OPD. When he turned around Zauriel was standing directly behind him. Herald had never noticed that the angel never casted a shadow before. That was weird. Except a shadow had appeared and was now growing, splitting off so it looked like Zauriel was surrounded by four copies of himself, each spreading his wings. Herald checked, and the real Zauriel's wings were furled. That was weirder.

Algorithm rarely fought, but when he did, it was just with a MR-5 assault rifle. He never displayed any powers. The Septembrists probably owned a regional bank, Nebraska Savings & Loans, running it through civilian contacts.

Nothing was known about Night, except that she was the most recently recruited of the Septembrists and always completely hid her face in a deep hood. Nebraska Saving & Loans had bought a prison contractor business the year before. They now ran four prisons in Nebraska and Iowa. Crane could take on the properties on whatever substance she was touching. Herald pulled a twelve hour shift with Hawkgirl, patrolling Council Bluffs. No criminal activity worth mentioning. The Septembrists had gone to ground.

January third began with thunder.


	3. Omaha 1,3

Everything going according to plan.

The truck backs into the warehouse at 11:04. Matt, except he's in costumes, so Mariner, leans down and whispers "All clockwork. We'll be done by three." A nod. Men get to work unloading the truck.

A beam spears through one of the walls, striking the cab of the truck. It melts in an instant. Men scramble to get out of the way. The odor of burning metal and plastic fills the room.

A pause. No one seems able to move.

Paul and Marie, Leviathan and Pompadour run from his office in the back of the building, pulling costumes on.

A cascade of lights breaks through one of the walls. Most go through the warehouse, punching holes in the opposite wall. Others overturn tables, dent machinery, spray powder in the air. A few hit the men who were unloading the truck. Whoever gets hit goes down and doesn't get up.

A shout from behind. Pompadour took a hit to the chest before she could pull her armor on. She's on the ground. Blood trickles out of her mouth and nose.

The lights let up for a second, then a section of the wall turns to slag and trickles to the ground. A figure jumps over the pool of liquid metal.

And then he screams.

Everything lightweight goes flying. Leviathan loses hold of Pompadour, and she slams into a support beam. Something cracks.

Concrete. That strange, almost pleasant feeling as the heart stops pumping, the lungs stop taking in air. Charging the figure, swinging wildly. He backs up, and light spears through the gap.

Darkness.

Mariner is on the ground, not moving. Leviathan is fighting a ten foot tall robot. The figure steps through the hole again. Have to be smart this time.

The figure steps into the light. Just a kid, wearing a homemade costume.

Move around him, sneak up, can knock him unconscious with a single blow.

Something clues him off. He bolts. He's fast.

Can be faster. Turn to human, concentrate on the insides. Melt into a wave of blood.

He turns his head, sees, stops. Turns, and screams again. Turn to concrete, sound glances off. Charge him again, he backs up. Doesn't see the piece of machinery behind him.

He slips, falls backwards. His head cracks on the concrete floor.

He isn't getting up.

His partner notices and begins pummeling Leaviathan with blasts of light. Leviathan grits his teeth and manages to grab the robot's hand. He uses his gravity manipulation to tear the suit to pieces. The man inside has a gun, fires once at Leviathan. Leviathan slams him into the remains of his suit. He doesn't move either.

Jane woke up screaming.

Seconds later, Matt ran into the room, concern wiping away the sleep from his face. He paused, his eyes conducting an automatic sweep, then moved to Jane's side. Jane collapsed into his arms, sobbing.

"Hey, hey, it's ok. Get it all out there." He said gently. He slowly stroked her back, holding her tight. He held her until the tears stopped flowing.

"Jane." His voice was nearly silent, and so gentle. "That man you were fighting. Warcry. They fucked up the surgery on him. He died, Jane. It wasn't your fault. You couldn't have known. I wish I didn't have to tell you. But you need to know. And better from me than from the news."

Her mind was blank. Or opaque. She couldn't think. There was a fog inside her head. Everywhere. She couldn't get through it, couldn't see the end.

Matt was starting to look worried. She should say something.

"Ok."

He smiled a little. "I'm going to stay with you. Sam'll be here soon. Anything you want, just ask. Even time alone. We'll understand."

He would, wouldn't he?

_Of course he would, he's a killer._

Is Sam a killer too?

_You're a killer._

Had he gone through this with Sam? Or had it not been needed?

_Can I trust any of them?_

Why are you so busy pretending not to be like them?

_I killed someone. _

Matt shifted slightly. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again.

"You know I was a marine, right? It's where I met Sam. Two tours, one in Iraq, one in Afghanistan. In Afghanistan, my convoy got hit by an IED. Killed two of my squadmates. The story after that's… complicated. But in the end I blew a man's brains out, all over the desert floor. So some of what you're feeling, I understand. Not all of it. I won't pretend that. But enough that you shouldn't be afraid to say anything to me. No matter how bad it sounds. Ok?"

"Ok."

Jane broke off the hug. Matt sat there, waiting. Jane didn't say anything.

They both heard a door open.

"That'd be Sam." Matt said, standing up. "Shout if you need anything, ok?"

He walked to the door, then looked back and flashed a smile. "You'll get through this. You're strong."

And then he left.

Jane was alone.

She could hear voices as Matt and Sam talked, but couldn't make out any words.

Outside, thunder rumbled. Jane turned over and stared at the clock. 5:08 A.M., January third. The minutes crawled by.

As the storm outside increased in intensity, Crane drifted into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

"You ready?" Sam- Deluge- asked as she squeezed her shoulder.

Crane nodded.

They entered the room side by side.

Even at the most normal of times, The Septembrists weren't big on formality. Not that they were undisciplined, exactly. It was more like everyone was comfortable enough with the dynamics that they didn't feel a need to show outward signs of it.

And it wasn't like the setting was the most formal. They weren't in a secret underground base or a death ray laboratory. Or anywhere even vaguely associated with The Septembrists, where the Justice League could find them by sheer happenstance.

No, they were in Viceroy's brother's house. In his living room, to be precise. Viceroy was talking to her brother in the corner. Crane could make out a few words.

"-back in three hours. Should leave you plenty of time." Viceroy's bother said.

"Thank you. We won't be long." Viceroy said.

Her brother looked away.

"You could run." He said, his voice, pleading.

"You know I can't do that." She said, her voice going soft.

"Susan…" he began.

"I'll be fine. It's me, remember?" She gave a light laugh, but it was obviously she didn't feel it.

"I remember." he said, a distant look in his eye. Then he turned and left. Viceroy's eyes followed him for a moment, then turned to Crane and Deluge. "Take a seat." she said.

They sat down on a couch. Mariner came in and sat next to Deluge. Almost absent mindedly, he placed his arm over her shoulder.

It was sometimes easy to forget that Viceroy could topple skyscrapers. She looked like an average woman, mid-thirties, who hadn't slept much in the past few days. She didn't look like she exercised much, but with her powers she wouldn't really need to. She was dressed casual, just jeans and a top. Crane knew that in another life she could have been a minor executive at some big firm, always throwing herself completely into whatever came her way, forgetting to make any time for herself. But Fortune had intervened.

Crane wondered sometimes what she would have been if Fortune had not intervened on her behalf.

_What would Warcry have been?_

She shoved the thought to the back of her mind and concentrated on the room.

Miracle Man, in contrast to Viceroy, looked every inch the superhuman. Muscular and attractive, he moved with an innate confidence. He nodded to the room at large before sitting in the chair directly to the right of the armchair where Viceroy had settled herself.

_Odd that I think of them and as Viceroy and Miracle Man. _Crane mused to herself. _Even Mariner and Deluge I don't think of by their names. And none of us are in costume. _

But this wasn't a friendly meeting, this was business.

Algorithm came in next, dressed in his usual white dress shirt and slacks. He surveyed the room the way he always did, then sat in a folding chair on the opposite side of the couch Crane shared. He pulled out his phone and began typing madly. Crane glanced over and saw what looked to be a complicated piece of code.

A pillar of pure darkness appeared in the center of the room. Crane felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise.

_Never going to get used to that_.

The pillar resolved into two figures. One staggered, but the other held her up.

Pompadour got her crutches under her and managed to stand under her own power. Night released her grip from Pompadour's shoulder and stood back.

Crane watched as Pompadour slowly made her way to a recliner next to Crane.

Pompadour looked exactly like someone who had performed surgery on themselves in the last forty-eight to correct internal bleeding should. Her normally short, neat black hair that she hid under a blonde wig while in costume was in disarray. Her face was drawn.

Matt had assured her that Pompadour had performed the surgery better than any doctor could, and there was less of a trail this way, but still…

Crane felt a light touch on her shoulder. She looked over, and Pompadour had leaned over and placed a hand on her shoulder. She was staring intently into Crane's face. Then she smiled and dropped her arm back to her side.

Meanwhile, Night had taken a seat next to Algorithm. She looked the same as always, face hiding in the deep shadows of her dark blue cloak.

They'd recruited her nearly three months ago, and Crane doubted she knew Night any better now than she had then.

Leviathan was the last to enter. He swaggered over to take a seat directly to Viceroy's left.

Viceroy stood up.

"Now that's everyone's here, we need to decide. What do we do?" she asked, looking each member in the face.

No one said everything. Algorithm looked down at his feet.

"You know what we're up against. Half the Justice League is here, including Zauriel, Jon Stewart, and Luthor. These aren't stupid or weak opponents. They're experienced, they're coordinated, and they can call for reinforcements. They outnumber us. And they don't intend to lose."

Leviathan stood up. "We fight them. We drive them off, make it not worth their while to stay here. Make sure they have a better use of their time. We have money. We can hire help from outside."

Crane felt Deluge shift.

Miracle Man spoke up. "What does the boss say?"

Viceroy waited a moment before responding. "That he trusts our judgment."

Nobody spoke. They all knew what that meant. They were being hung out to dry.

Crane felt Deluge move to nudge Mariner. He reluctantly stood. Deluge stood up, showing none of the same reluctance.

Mariner opened his mouth, said something to the effect of "ah…" then closed it. Deluge looked at him, rolled her eyes and addressed the group. "You all know me and Mariner have been talking about leaving for awhile. Getting out, spending the rest of our lives spending the money we've made. And now, with this, it seems like a good time. There's no point in fighting the League. We won't win. We've all made enough money. More than enough. Why don't we just enjoy it?"

Mariner found his voice. "No matter what the rest of you decide, the two of us, we're out. We won't help fight the League. Probably not even staying in Omaha."

Silence.

Then "Cowards." came hissing from the other side of the room. Leviathan stood with his feet spread wide, glaring at Deluge and Mariner.

"No," Mariner answered. "We're not."

"Yes, you are. You stay for the easy money, but at the first real sign of trouble you bail? You back out? That's what cowards do. You're cowards."

"That's not it at all. You know-" protested Deluge.

"Sam. Matt." Viceroy spoke. There was no emotion in her voice or face. "You've made your point. If you want out, no one here will stop you. But you have no more voice here. Leave."

There were times where it was impossible to forget this woman was Viceroy as well, Crane reflected.

Sam and Matt stood for a moment. Matt turned to look at Crane. Crane just shook her head. Matt nodded and said "Come around any time. We'll be around for awhile." Then he followed Sam out the door.

For a long while, no one said anything, each preferring the company of themselves.

_I just need enough money for the rest of my life. I'm newer here, I don't have enough. _

_You're lying to yourself. You love the power, the control. It makes you feel important_.

Then, in a voice that sounded rusty from disuse, Night said "I agree with Leviathan."

Everyone turned to look at her, expecting something more. But she was silent.

Viceroy stood. "Sam and Matt were right about one thing. We have a lot of money. Enough that we can afford to stay under the radar for awhile."

Leviathan looked up. "The boss-"

"Will deal." Viceroy finished for him. "We can outlast the Justice League. No way they can stay here forever. They'll have to move on soon, especially if we vanish for a bit. That'd mean to powers, no costumes, no connections to our businesses, legal or illegal. We let our guys handle things for us. Me and Algorithm will still supervise, but it'll all be from a distance. We won't appear in person until the League has left."

Crane could see a few heads nodding.

"No." It was Leviathan again. "If we aren't visible, the League can't hit us, but we can't be in control. The second they think they don't need us, it'll be over. We'll be throwing away everything we've fought so hard to get. We'd have to fight to get it back, and the League won't be blind to it this time around."

Viceroy shook her head. "But we probably wouldn't be facing half the League, like we would be now."

Leviathan smiled. _Not a nice smile. That's a shark's smile._ Crane thought. "We don't have to face half."

"What do you mean?" Viceroy had her eyes narrowed.

"You're right, we do have a lot of money. I just spent some of mine. Made a few calls, got something placed in police headquarters. Kept the people who did it around too. They might be amenable to providing some additional firepower. Got a line on three guys in Toronto. And Grundy, over in Minneapolis. It won't be cheap, but we can beat them."

"You think we can beat Zauriel? And after we blow half the League up, you think Doctor Fate or Metron wouldn't take a sudden interest?"

"I think we can contain Zauriel for the _time_ being. It's not exactly a normal bomb."

"No." Viceroy's face was set.

"Why don't we vote on it?" Leviathan's tone was mocking. _He's thinks at least two of the others, plus Night, will vote with him. Who? Miracle Man? Pompadour?_

Viceroy looked at him, appraising. Her eyes bored into him. By contrast, Leviathan looked relaxed, but Crane could see his fingers tapping rapidly on the side of his leg, hidden from Viceroy's sight.

"Fine." Viceroy sighed. Leviathan smiled again.

"Who'se for taking the fight to the League?" he said, spreading his arms wide.

Only Night raised her hand. Leviathan looked around the room, eyes narrowing as they passed Pompadour. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

"Sorry, mate." Miracle Man said. "But I'm not fighting those guys. Luthor and Stewart are bad enough, but that angel… I'm not going anywhere near it."

Algorithm looked up from where he sat. "We would lose." he intoned quietly, as if it was an undeniable law of the universe.

"I just want to make money, run things. Fighting the League gets us nothing." Crane found herself saying.

Night turned her head to look at her.

"Then it's settled. We'll stay in the background until the League leaves, no powers in the meantime. We stay home, take a well-deserved vacation. Pompadour can recover. And Leviathan?" Viceroy said, not even bothering to look at him "If you fuck with me on this, you won't have to worry about the League finding you."

And the meeting was adjourned.

* * *

Jane returned to her apartment a half hour later. It wasn't what you'd expect the home of a supervillain whose daily income could be measured in the quintuple digits. It was, in a word, sensible.

That was what happened when one of the teammates was a number guy.

The day Crane had joined the Septembrists, she'd gotten a forty-five minute long lecture about keeping tight control of her finances, spending only so much as the fake job she had at Omaha Motors, owned by the Septembrists through intermediaries, would allow. People noticed if twenty year olds started buying mansions, apparently.

Not that Jane would really have spent it all. Probably.

But it had allowed her to buy a cat.

Which a man was now stroking as he sat on her sofa.

Which was very creepy.

The man didn't seem intimidated by the girl made from steel, courtesy of a toe ring, that was standing three feet from him.

Which was very scary.

"You must be Jane!" he smiled. "I've very pleased to meet you. Sorry for all this, but we really needed to talk. I'd stand, but…" he indicated the cat on his lap with an apologetic smile.

Alarm bells were ringing in Jane's head. The man seemed friendly, but there was a very small number of people who would not show any fear to being confronted by a supervillain after invading their home. Usually those people had powers themselves. The ones who didn't were even scarier. They were either insane or highly confident, usually for good reason.

The man flashed his smile again and took the cat off of his lap. She padded into the kitchen. He stood up, stretched, and extended a hand. "My name's Guardian. Well, not my _name _name, but you get it."

Jane didn't move to shake his hand. Too much of an opportunity for him to strike.

He shrugged and dropped his hand down to his side. "You're suspicious. I'll just get to business then."

He cleared his throat and looked her directly in the eye. Only a trace of the earlier friendliness remained. "At some point in the near future, the Justice League will manage to track down the Septembrists, and they'll attack. You'll fight back and lose. You'll spend much, or the rest, of your life in prison. With your power, not Belle Reve. You'd probably end up as one of those who just get disappeared. Too dangerous to have contact with the outside world. Especially after Warcry."

Jane looked him over. "And you're… what? Offering to help fight against the League?"

Gaurdian maintained his composure for a moment and then burst out laughing. "God no! I couldn't sway the balance there. What I am offering is a way for you to escape."

Jane shook her head. "Already had a chance to leave today. Didn't take it."

Gaurdian smiled again. "I phrased that poorly. I'm offering you a job. Well, kind of. My employer wants you to perform a single service, you get paid a decent chunk of cash- ten million- then you have the option of either taking a job, receiving addition five million dollar payments for the same service at six month intervals, or just taking the ten million and never hearing from her again."

That sounded too good to be true. Which meant it was almost certainly true. Any smart opponent would have made it more believable.

One nice thing about being made of metal was that it really cut down on the body language.

Jane let Guardian stand there for a minute. See if he'd lose that smile.

He didn't.

"And let me guess, you couldn't tell me who this boss is…" she eventually said.

"If you want to know, I'll tell you."

Well, that was…unusual.

"Sure." Couldn't hurt to know.

He shrugged. "Mercy Graves."

_Oh. _

Despite the whole made of metal thing, something in her face must have changed. "You've heard of her then." Guardian said.

Of course she had. It was hard not to hear about the woman who was co-running one of the world's largest corporations despite being barely thirty. And who had once beat up the guy who tried to mug her, pulverizing his kidneys and putting him on dialysis for the rest of his life. Which she had then generously decided to pay for.

"Right, then." said Guardian. "I'll leave you some time to think it over. Few things first. One, the service you're wanted for isn't illegal. Isn't even immoral. Actually, it might technically violate mining regulations, but whatever. Not the point. Second, if you want to take the job or just want to talk more about it, say 'I ship Drogo and Cthulhu' and someone will come up to you and say 'North Korean bubble tea is yum' and we'll be talking inside ten seconds. I trust neither of those phrases come up in your everyday conversations?"

Jane shook her head.

"Good, good! Then I'll be out of your way, and you can go back to laying low. Personally, I'd go with a TV binge on Netflix." He walked out the door.

Then promptly poked his head back in. "And I think it goes without saying that all this stays between us."

* * *

**January 10th, 2012**

She'd driven for three hours, passing into Kansas around dawn. She'd packed a spare costume, from her early days with her powers. By her current taste, it was too derivative of Superman.

She parked the car in the center of a deserted field and quickly changed into the costume. No need for some random guy bird-watching to get a picture of her face.

She pushed off from the ground, floating lazily. The sunlight streamed down from the cloudless sky.

She went higher and higher, gradually picking up speed. Eventually she stopped.

At this height, everything seemed to fall away. She wasn't Susan. She certainly wasn't Viceroy.

She was just a fish in the sea, a falcon in the sky. She was at home. At peace.

She pushed with her mind and her body responded. She accelerated to fifty miles per hour, a hundred, two hundred, to the point when the ground was a blur, where she could pass over towns in the blink of an eye. She could feel the pressure of a sonic boom welling up around her, then being released in a burst of energy.

She didn't stop until she was over Texas.

Then she closed her eyes and simply allowed herself to float.

Some people meditated, others prayed. She did this.

When she opened her eyes Zauriel floated two meters in front of her.

* * *

Herald slowly banged his head against his desk on the Watchtower. He had been shuttling in and out of Omaha for over a week. The case was rapidly losing steam. No sign of The Septembrists had been discovered. Everything in the Omaha underground was running smoothly. Huge piles of paper filled Herald's room, all telling him precisely nothing.

Luthor was being forced to pull members of the League off the case, putting them onto other concerns. Gypsy was in Boston; Red Tornado in Anchorage. Herald knew he was next.

A famine was brewing in East Africa. Convoys of trucks were lining up at Luthor's warehouses across America, Canada, Europe, Australia, and Japan, ready to distribute food. They only needed a shortcut. Cameras would be everywhere, selling the Justice League and Luthor.

It wasn't that Herald minded doing the humanitarian stuff. It was just a little boring.

The fights, though; those were what he lived for.

But he was in less and less of them these days, and it looked like he wouldn't be in this one either.

The speaker in his room buzzed. "All members of the Omaha team, please report to the Bridge."

Or not.

Herald stood and opened a portal, reveling in the feeling of bent space-time.

He stepped through.

Viceroy floated in the center of the bridge, unconscious. There wasn't a mark on her. Zauriel stood off to the side, talking to Luthor, who was grinning.

"All right!" Luthor shouted. "We're going to Omaha!"


End file.
